


Blood and Snow

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, First Time, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-30
Updated: 2005-12-30
Packaged: 2018-11-10 10:12:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11125023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived atDue South Archive. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDue South Archive collection profile.





	Blood and Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Blood and Snow

## Blood and Snow

  
by Vscott  


Story Notes: AU '�" Detective Ray Vecchio is partnered with Jack Huey after Louis Guardino is blown up in Detective Vecchio'��s Riviera. It remains an unsolved cold case. Detective Stan Kowalski is partnered with Detective Thomas Dewey. 

* * *

One morning, just a few minutes before lunch, Ray, Huey, Tom and Stan all looked up when a man dressed all in red, wearing a Stetson, appeared. Huey whispered to Ray, "Hey, if he put a wreath on his hat, we could stand him in the corner for our Christmas tree." Quiet laughter followed this remark. The stranger turned his head in their direction and they could see by his face, he had overheard the remark and was not amused.  
  
Lieutenant Welsh spotted Constable Benton Fraser and came out to guide him into his office, away from the stares and snickers. "I'm Lieutenant Welsh and you must be Constable Fraser. I am sorry about the death of your father. How are you holding up?"   
  
"I'm pleased to meet you, Leftenant. Thank you for agreeing to talk to me on such short notice. I am a bit tired from my trip from Inuvik in the Northwest Territories. Thank you for asking."  
  
"I have the file right here, Constable. I was just about to assign it to Detective Kowalski just before you came in. Could you go sit by his desk and ask him to come into my office? Thanks."  
  
Stan looked at the stranger in red with a puzzled look when he stood near the empty chair in front of his desk. "Detective Kowalski, I am Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Fraser stuck out his hand. Stan wiped his hand on his jeans in an unconscious effort not to mess up the fastidious vision in front of him and shook the extended hand. "The leftenant would like to see you in his office."  
  
"Huh, oh, okay. Nice to meet you, I think."  
  
The lieutenant handed Stan the file he had on his desk and waited while Stan perused the contents. "Oh, no, Lieu, not the dead Mountie thing?"   
  
Fraser was watching the two men interact and because of his exceptional hearing, overheard this very callous remark. He thought this did not bode well for getting the help he needed to track down the killer of his father. He almost got up to leave, then thought better of it when he remembered the kindness Lieutenant Welsh had initially shown him.  
  
Lieutenant Welsh could see Fraser's face clearly through the open door of his office and detected a fleeting look of despair cross the constable's symmetrical features and for a second, it looked like he was going to leave. Welsh closed the door to his office and pulled the blinds shut on the windows that overlooked the bullpen.  
  
"Detective Kowalski, I am not asking you to take this case, I am ordering you. The `dead Mountie' was Constable Fraser's father and he is in mourning, right now, and needs our help and you, my friend, are going to give it to him."  
  
Lieutenant Welsh was angry and an angry Welsh is not something Stan wanted to face, so he did his best to back down from the dumb thing he blurted out. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I spoke without thinking. How is this all going to work? Do I work on only this case or follow leads when they come up while working on my other 41 unsolved cases?"  
  
"I have spoken to Inspector Thatcher, Constable Fraser's supervisor, and we have agreed Constable Fraser will work alongside of you, sort of like a liaison officer, on your other cases, if they need attention more than finding the killer of a fellow police officer's father. Got it? Please send Detective Dewey in so I can temporarily reassign him to a different partner." With a curt movement of his head, he indicated to Detective Kowalski to get out of his office.   
  
Stan emerged with a shamed look on his face. Fraser noticed this and felt a little pang of remorse that it was because of him that Detective Kowalski was embarrassed. Stan kept his eyes on the floor while returning to his desk. He was thinking about how he was going to make things right with Constable Fraser so they could work together. Before he could speak, Lieutenant Welsh came out of his office and asked every available officer to respond to a fire at Detective Vecchio's house. Arson was definitely suspected.  
  
Kowalski grabbed Fraser's arm as he ran out of the building. Vecchio and Huey nearly ran them down in their rush to get in the brown Fiesta they were driving after the Riviera's demise. Stan and Benton got into a black GTO. Of course, they were the first ones on the scene. Fraser jumped out of the car and rushed into the burning house, with Stan calling after him not to go in, to wait for the fire department. Fraser is able to save a middle-aged man and a thirty-ish young woman, by pushing them out of a bathroom window. It was a second-story bathroom, but they landed on a shed roof and were able to slither down the fence to safety.  
  
A firefighter called out, "You there in the building...is there anyone else inside?" Fraser answered there was and the firefighter asked if they were alive. "They are. I'm bringing them out now." He put a tank of goldfish on the front porch of the house.  
  
"I don't believe this." Stan was flabbergasted. "That man just went into a burning building for fish."  
  
"Well, not exactly," Fraser defended himself.  
  
Stan had turned his attention to Tony and Francesca to determine if they had heard or seen anything that might help them determine who had wanted to burn Ray's house down. At that moment, Ray and Jack drove up, emitting as much black smoke from the Fiesta's tailpipe as was coming out of Ray's home as the fire was brought under control. Ray and Jack were sniping at each other, trying to blame the other guy for picking out the lamest vehicle in the motor pool. "Dammit, Jack, my house was on fire and it took us 30 minutes to drive 5 miles!"   
  
"I don't know why you insist that I was the one who picked out this sorry excuse for a police car."   
  
"Gentlemen, gentlemen, now, everything is under control. This gentleman and this young woman are safe and so are your goldfish, Ray." Fraser was trying to put out another fire. Realizing that Ray and Jack were going to continue to snap at each other, he turned his attention to an outside electrical socket and bent down to see if an accelerant had been used by the arsonist or arsonists. He stuck out his tongue near the plug and turned at the sound of Stan shouting.  
  
"Hey! What are you doing? I don't know where you come from, but I come from this little place called America where we got this big thing called electricity. Word of advice - your tongue, electricity - not a good mix."  
  
"Detective Kowalski, I can't quite place it, but there is a distinctive odor emanating from around the plug which I believe may be the accelerant used to start this fire. I come from the Northwest Territories and up there we have a thing called electricity which when mixed with an accelerant can cause combustion."  
  
"Well, that's just great. So, what does this accel...this fire-starter smell like, huh, Mountie Man from the Northwest Territory?"  
  
"That's Northwest Territories, Detective Kowalski. And it smells a bit like ambergris which is used as a base common to many perfumes."  
  
"Hey, Frase, call me `Stan', will ya?"  
  
Ray Vecchio was only half-listening, but when the word "ambergris" came floating out of the Mountie's mouth, he started to think. Why was that word so familiar? "Wait a minute, wait just a minute, guys. Remember a performance arsonist we caught some time back by the name of Motherwell? He used perfume to help his fires along. Unfortunately, Jack and I need to follow up on a double-homicide on the East side."  
  
"Hey, don't worry about it. Me and Fraser will go see him and find out if he is directing some more of his fires through someone on the outside. Come on, Frase, pitter-patter, let's get at `er. I think we would work better as a duo, you know, where you set `em up and I knock `em down, right?"  
  
"I don't comprehend what you actually intend, Detective Kowalski, uh, Stan."  
  
"You'll see, my friend, you'll see." Stan tapped the right side of his nose with his right index finger and Fraser found himself involuntarily doing the same with his right index finger. Now, he just had to figure out the code. He was open-minded and willing to go along, for now.  
  
At the prison, Zoltan Motherwell was restrained by a straight-jacket and sitting in a chair in the middle of a bare room. Motherwell looked intently at Stan and asked, "Who is he?"  
  
Fraser said, "This is a detective, apparently. My problem, Mr. Motherwell, is that it would appear that someone is continuing your efforts on a far more personal level. Detective Vecchio's home was set afire, nearly killing his brother-in-law, his sister and some innocent goldfish."  
  
"Oh, that's tragic. But that's the nature of artistic movements. I was merely the first great performance arsonist. Of course there'll be followers, imitators, possibly a school -  
  
Stan stepped up into Motherwell's face and went right for the one-two punch, verbally-speaking. "We checked the visitor's log. One visitor, marked `girlfriend' with no name. Now you cough up a name or it is all aboard for fun time, and I will kick your head all over this room!"  
  
"Is he going to hit me?" Motherwell was looking at Fraser when he asked the question.   
  
"I think it's probably just a posture".  
  
Stan stepped up, again, closer to Motherwell and began counting, "Five, four...  
  
"He's going to hit me!"  
  
"I'm sure it's a posture."  
  
"Two, one..."  
  
"Greta Garbo"  
  
Stan pulled his fist back and started to step forward even closer, "I want a REAL name".  
  
"It is real. She changed it. She lives on Shuter Street. 271."  
  
"You see, Benton, you set him up and I knocked him down."  
  
"Technically, you didn't `knock him down, Stan." Stan gave him a dirty look. Fraser immediately caught on, "Oh, you meant figuratively. Right. Yes, that worked out quite well. We are a, uh, duo."  
  
At Garbo's apartment, Fraser opened a case he dragged out of the closet that contained Garbo's supply of accelerant. As Stan and Fraser left Garbo's apartment, with one of the bottles of perfume, they spotted a suspicious blue van that slowed down as it went by as if to stop, then screeched away. Both men jumped into the GTO and started following the van. The driver appeared to be a middle-aged nondescript woman. She took a wrong turn near the docks and had to stop and when the GTO pulled up 15 yards away, she started firing at them. Stan quickly put his glasses on, drew his gun and in the next move, ran around behind the GTO and knocked Fraser to the ground as Fraser got out of the car and while lying on top of him, fired a shot that knocked Greta's gun right into the water. She started to run. Both men scrambled to their feet and caught up with her. Fraser bound her hands behind her back with his lanyard. Stan called for a police unit to pick up her up and it arrived within minutes to take her away, screaming as she went.  
  
"Why the hell didn't you draw your gun when you got out of the car, Fraser? What were you thinking?"  
  
"I don't have a permit to use a gun in this country, Stan. This is just a holster in which I keep my surgical gloves and medicines and my scope." Fraser pulled out his gloves and various tubes of salve and a long scope.   
  
"What! You've got to be kidding me. We are going after the killer of your father with you armed with rubber gloves and tubes and a scope. I don't get you. You are unhinged, you know that?"  
  
"For what it's worth, Stan, thank you for knocking me out of harm's way."  
  
"Can I drop you somewhere, Frase? I'll take care of the paperwork. You look really tired."  
  
"I haven't had a chance to look for an apartment, yet. I am going to bed down on the floor in the office Inspector Thatcher has assigned to me."  
  
"No way. I have a really comfortable couch in my living room that you can sleep on. I just got a bunch of groceries, too, so you can fix yourself a meal and get some rest and we'll see what we can come up with on your father's case, tomorrow, when we are both rested. I should be at my apartment at about eleven o'clock tonight. I hate to think of you sleeping on the floor after all you have been through." Stan patted Fraser on the shoulder.  
  
Fraser felt tears come to his eyes. He wasn't used to being treated by anyone as kindly as Stan was treating him, right now; not since his mother died when he was six. His father dumped him on his grandparents and they never hugged each other, let alone him, even when he was a small boy. His father, the few times he would come to visit him, always shook his hand and never held it very long. Ben did not realize until now how much he craved the touch of another human being.  
  
When Stan noticed Ben begin to cry, he took him into a full hug and held onto him for quite awhile, patting his strong back as if he was a small child. Stan suddenly realized he was feeling a bit more than paternal toward Ben, but refused to break away until he was sure Ben had himself under control.  
  
Ben wiped away the last tears and got into the passenger seat of the GTO. He stared out the side window, embarrassed by revealing how deeply he had been touched by the death of his last family member and his need for comfort. His father, Robert Fraser, had had no brothers or sisters and Ben had no siblings, either. His grandparents had died within a year of each other when he was just still a teenager. As soon as he could, he followed in his father's footsteps and joined the RCMP, the only thing he could think of to do with his life. One friend he had was a half-wolf named Diefenbaker whom he had left behind with Buck Frobisher, his father's friend. Fraser knew a big city like Chicago was no place for a half-wild animal that was used to roaming free.  
  
At some point during the time when Stan was holding him close, he began to feel a closeness to this man that had nothing to do with sorrow or comfort; feelings he had pushed out of his life after a love affair with a woman criminal that had ended badly; she unexpectedly grabbed his gun while she stood behind him and shot him in the back after he insisted he had to turn her in.  
  
She escaped, leaving him to breathe his last breath on the frozen ground while a heavy snow fell all around him. If it wasn't for a classmate from Grade Four, Delbert, Ben would have died. The bear of a man simply picked up the dying man and carried him to a nearby Inuvailuit village to be given first aid. A short time later, a helicopter came to take him to the hospital in Inuvik.  
  
Ben decided during his long recuperation in the hospital in Univik and the long weeks of rehabilitation to regain the use of his leg muscles, he would never trust or love another human being. He shook off the idea of falling in love with this man like a dog shaking off water. He shivered.  
  
Stan noticed Ben was thinking hard and he also saw him shiver as if he was very, very cold. Stan turned on the heat to take away any chill Ben was feeling, not realizing it was Ben's heart and soul that were turning cold and not his body.  
  
Both men were wrapped up in their own thoughts and did not notice a black car following behind the GTO. When Stan parked in his designated parking spot, the car turned a corner and parked so it could not be seen by Stan or Ben, but the occupant could see which apartment the men entered.  
  
After showing Ben where everything was that he needed to make himself comfortable, Stan drove over to the 27th Precinct to tie up the loose ends on the arson case.  
  
Ben was just finishing up a sandwich and milk when there was a knock at the door. "Who is it?"   
  
"Ben, it's me, Junior. My dad sent me to tell you something important." Ben undid the locks and let Junior in, and relocked the door. Innusiq, Ben's childhood friend, with whom he exchanged letters and holiday cards, lived in Nunavut so they had very little opportunity to visit. Ben knew Junior, though, from the pictures the proud parents sent him every year. He hugged him hard and looked Junior straight into his eyes and asked him what news he had.  
  
Junior didn't know how his father had found out, but it was a friend of Robert Fraser's who had gunned him down. It was Gerard. Ben reeled back in horror, picturing all of the times Gerard had come to dinner at their cabin over the many years Robert Fraser and Gerard were friends.  
  
"Ben, do you want me to see if your friend has any wine for you to drink. You look like you might go into shock." Ben didn't usually drink, but he was going to make an exception because he definitely felt as if he was going a bit shocky. He couldn't get his mind around the betrayal by a family friend.  
  
Stan had been kind enough to drop off Ben's trunk with all of his important and sentimental papers in it, placing it on the bed in Stan's room before, again, heading off to the 27th. Ben wanted to show Junior some of the medals Robert Fraser had received over his long career as a way of distracting them both. Ben unfolded an old piece of paper to reveal a childhood drawing he had done of his father as a RCMP on a horse. Junior patted Ben on the back as Ben quickly folded it, again, and put it back in the trunk. He definitely did not want to cry in front of Junior.  
  
Ben drank a glass of wine while Junior drank a glass of water. Junior took out Ben's official 38-caliber revolver from the trunk. "If I am careful, Ben, would you show me how to load it?"  
  
"Certainly, Junior. You feed the bullets into the chambers one by one, careful to keep the safety on when you're doing it. You only take the safety off when you are going to fire the gun in earnest." Ben demonstrated as he instructed Junior.  
  
At that moment, the door to Stan's apartment was kicked in and the intruder fired a shot in Ben's direction as soon as Ben came out to see what was going on and to see what he could do to protect Junior. The bullet entered Ben's upper right shoulder. It was Gerard, who did not see a slight figure moving into position behind him. He was preparing to fire a final fatal shot when he fell forward at Fraser's feet. Junior had removed the safety and shot Gerard before Gerard could kill Ben.  
  
In a flash of insight, when everything important comes together in a whole picture of what the future holds, Ben looked at the clock and saw Stan would be back within 15 minutes. It would take awhile for the neighbors to figure out what was going on and what exactly they had heard - was it a gun or a car backfiring? Ben discovered he couldn't use his right hand. With his left hand, he felt for a pulse, found none, then reached for Gerard's gun, wiped it clean with his handkerchief and motioned for Junior to help him replace the gun in Gerard's shoulder holster.   
  
Ben then struggled to undo the buttons on his tunic with his left hand. Junior had to help him remove his tunic and Henley so the flow of blood could be stopped from the bullet wound. Junior found some heavy gauze in the bathroom and wrapped it multiple times around the wound to keep the blood from seeping out to Ben's outer clothing. Stan had also brought Ben's duffel bag and Ben directed Junior to pull out a clean Henley and a flannel shirt and jeans and help him get dressed in them. Junior did all this under the direction of an intensely focused Ben.  
  
"Now listen to me and listen to me very carefully, Junior. You are a hockey champion and have a chance to study at the university on a full scholarship before becoming a Mountie. You're seventeen and you have a wonderful future ahead of you. I am 32 years old and I am finding it harder and harder to face the future. I am going to stand in the same position you did to fire the gun, but we've got to get your fingerprints off and mine on it. It's not going to be easy because my hand isn't exactly working right now. Take my handkerchief, wipe your prints off, hold the barrel and push my thumb against the safety and my index finger on the trigger. It's the best we are going to be able to do.   
  
"You saved my life and there is no need for you to throw away your future on this son-of-a-bitch who killed my father. I don't care what happens to me. My life is over, do you understand, Junior? Promise me, you won't say anything to anyone. It is like you were never here. Please, promise me, Junior. You can tell no one, not even your father."  
  
Junior studied the intense despair in Ben's face. He couldn't decide what to do. He didn't want to think about Ben going to prison. He was afraid. "No, Ben, please, don't do this. You have a future, too, just like me."  
  
"No, Junior, I don't. I don't want to have to say this, but if you don't agree, I will kill myself before I will let you throw away your life. I mean it." Ben took the gun from Junior and was struggling to place the gun in the correct firing position with his left hand. Junior grabbed the gun away and placed it behind a box on the buffet.   
  
"Okay, Ben. You don't give me any real choice. I promise." Junior was crying when he quickly left through the damaged open door.  
  
Ben poured himself a large glass of wine with his left hand and drank it down fast to ease the pain in his shoulder. He retrieved the gun from behind the box with his handkerchief, placed it on the floor where it would have fallen if dropped and positioned himself as the shooter.  
  
Ben didn't have to wait long. A cheerful Stan popped around the open door, not noticing the damage right away. His detective instincts kicked in immediately and he was able to take in the whole picture without too much thought. His joyous demeanor changed dramatically to one of heart-wrenching despair. "He's dead, Stan. I already checked." Gerard's body lay where it fell with a massive amount of drying blood visible on his back.  
  
"What happened? What happened? Ben, tell me."  
  
Fraser's voice was in a monotone when he began speaking and his voice slightly slurred. His face turned bright red as it always did when he was lying, but Stan didn't know him well enough to know that. "It's Gerard, a so-called friend of my father's. He broke down the door. He saw I was unarmed, so he hadn't bothered to pull out his weapon. He started telling me lies about how my father had been corrupt and he had shot him in self defense. I had looking through my trunk, took out my gun and had laid it down, here, behind this box, and when Gerard turned his back for a second, I killed the son-of-a-bitch."  
  
Ray was having difficulties processing the information. His duty was clear, though. "I'm sorry, Ben. I wish I didn't have to do this. He may have come to kill you, but you shot first and I have to arrest you for his murder. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you at no cost. During any questioning, you may decide at any time to exercise these rights, not answer any questions or make any statements.   
  
Stan brought Ben's hands behind his back and cuffed them. Ben moaned when Stan brought his right arm around and Stan asked him if he was alright. "It's an old injury by a schoolyard bully swinging a dead otter that caught me in the right shoulder. It just gets stiff at times. I'm alright. Yes, I understand my rights."  
  
Stan called for backup since it was a first-degree murder case. Soon Lieutenant Welsh, Ray and Jack were at Stan's apartment. Lieutenant Welsh looked at Constable Fraser with disappointment clearly written upon his face. Ben turned away from Welsh so he could avoid the man's close scrutiny. Again, his face turned bright red, this time from embarrassment. Welsh's opinion of him was important. He told himself he had better get used to being looked at as a criminal instead of someone who upholds the law.  
  
When Welsh, Ray and Jack were gone to take Fraser to booking, Stan took a good look around. He noticed two drinking glasses near Fraser's trunk. He felt pretty sure Fraser wasn't drinking with Gerard before he decided to shoot him in the back. Forensics was on its way, so Stan did a very uncharacteristic thing since he was a first-class detective who had been decorated several times - he removed the second glass, washed it and put it away to make it look like Fraser was the only one enjoying a glass of Merlot while rummaging through his father's trunk until he was interrupted by Gerard breaking down the door.  
  
Stan got a call from Lieutenant Welsh that the local jail was full of local football fans who had decided to riot after words were exchanged in the parking lot of the stadium about whose team was the best team. Welsh asked him if he would be willing to drive Fraser to be booked in at the next county jail about 40 miles away. Stan said he would be glad to. It would give him a chance to find out what had really happened.   
  
A plan started to formulate in Stan's mind as he drove toward the 27th Precinct. He pulled over to the curb and turned on the overhead light. Fraser's Stetson was in the back seat and so was the bottle of perfume they had removed from Garbo's apartment. He quickly got out and put those in the trunk and drove the short distance back to his apartment. He also placed Fraser's trunk and duffle bag in the trunk.  
  
He remembered a friend of his who was almost as good looking as Frase who lasted about two days in lock-up before being repeatedly sexually assaulted, beaten and left for dead. His friend survived, just barely. Since the charge he had been arrested for was quite serious, he was tried and convicted and sentenced to two years in prison. He committed suicide in his cell before being transported to prison. The charge had been possession of enough marijuana for sale.  
  
Stan parked behind the police station and waited for the officers to bring Fraser out through the back door. Stan got out and helped Fraser into the right rear backseat. He fought a wave of nausea at seeing Ben in a jail uniform with his wrists locked to his waist and leg irons restricting the movement of his legs.   
  
His parents' trailer was on the way to the new location and he stopped by as his plan depended heavily on their willingness to cooperate. From the backseat, Fraser asked, "Why are we stopping, Detective Kowalski? Isn't it against the rules to deviate from the route set out by the correctional department?"  
  
"It's an emergency, Frase. My mother forgot her medication at my apartment and it will only take a few minutes to hand it off to her."   
  
Soon, Stan's parents, Barbara and Damien, came out to the GTO and Stan opened up the back seat door where Fraser sat. Stan helped Ben out and walked him over to the trailer. Fraser protested the whole time he was being pushed in the direction of the trailer. "Stan, don't do this. We can't involve your parents in whatever it is you are planning to do." Damien opened the GTO's trunk and retrieved the items Stan had told him to remove.  
  
Meanwhile, Stan led Ben over to the spare bedroom and made him comfortable in an overstuffed chair; well, as comfortable as possible since Ben could not move easily.   
  
Stan noticed that Ben was getting paler than his usual creamy complexion and beads of sweat were starting to break out on his forehead and around his neck. "Are you feeling okay, Ben?"   
  
"Not really, Stan. I have a bullet in my right arm and I think it is starting to become infected. The area where it is feels hot and throbbing."  
  
"I knew it. Gerard was shot in self-defense, wasn't he?"  
  
Ben didn't answer.  
  
"You're keeping something from me. Okay, I get it. You must have your reasons, but I also have my reasons for doing what I am doing, right now, and I would appreciate it if you would go along with it. I'm not going to tell you what it is, either, unless you decide to tell me your secret. So, there, we're even Steven."  
  
Ben's voice came out weaker than it had been before, but he managed to say, "Nobody says that, any more, Stan. It's juvenile." And he smiled very weakly.   
  
Ben was getting weaker with each passing minute. Stan removed Ben's restraints. In his present condition, he simply was not going anywhere.   
  
Stan quickly removed Ben's upper clothing and took off the gauze wrapped tightly around the wound. He wondered how a one-armed man had accomplished this. He was sickened to see the blood poisoning from the bullet was traveling at a rapid rate down Ben's arm and up into the right side of his neck. Where the bullet had gone in, there was a lot of pus oozing from the wound. The bullet had to come out and antibiotics needed to be administered in order for Ben to survive this. "Mum, come quick and bring your doctor's bag!"  
  
Barbara indicated she wanted Ben on the bed and the men lifted him up and placed him there right after a waterproof sheet left over from Stan's bed-wetting days was placed over the blue and white comforter on the guest bed. Stan was a little embarrassed that his mother still had this nearly antique sheet.  
  
"Mum, I have a plan and I need as much blood as you can get from Ben. Do you know how to get at least a pint of blood from me, too?"  
  
"Yes, Stanley, I can do that. Remember, I trained to be a doctor before I met your father." Barbara immediately collected the blood that had already pooled below Ben's arm and put it into a jar. "It'll only take me a minute to get some from you, son. How much do you need for your plan?"  
  
"As much as you can get without causing me to pass out, okay, Mum", Stan said and laughed a little.   
  
Stan's blood was also collected and placed in a jar. "Okay, now let me take care of my patient. Luckily for Ben, I have some morphine left over from when I broke my leg last summer," Stan's mother said, "and I have plenty of antibiotics, too."  
  
Stan's mother looked over at Stan and realized how deeply her son cared about this man as the look on his stricken face was of a fear so deep that it had to come from feelings that were just as deep. "Please, don't worry, Stanley. I am going to do my best for your friend.   
  
While Barbara was taking care of Ben, Stan and Damien stashed Ben's possessions in a closet. At this point, Damien was mystified by Stan's actions, but decided to wait until Stan revealed what was up.  
  
Barbara came out of the guest room. "I got the bullet. I can see why he can't use his hand. I think there's a lot of nerve damage. It'll take a few days for the antibiotics to take away his infection and fever."  
  
"Sit down, Mum and Dad." Stan asked his parents if they would be willing to help Ben even if it meant breaking the law and taking some risks. They shook their heads no. Stan reminded them of what had happened to Jeffrey. He said Ben would be in danger if he was sent to prison. His parents remembered too clearly what had happened to a man they had come to look upon as an "adopted" son. They agreed and Stan laid out the detailed plan he wanted them to carry out. They left in the GTO after getting the bottle of perfume, the jars of blood, Fraser's Stetson and Ray's gun and holster.  
  
Stan went in to monitor Ben's condition while his parents were gone. Some time later, Stan heard a car drive up and was glad to see that his Dad and Mum had enlisted the help of a friend of theirs to bring them home so they would not have an easily discernible trail detectives could follow just as he had asked them to do.  
  
"So, Dad, how did the plan go?"  
  
"It was greatness, son. Nobody paid any attention to us at that park near Michigan Lake. We just looked like two old people looking at the view. There weren't many people there, anyway. We waited until there was no one in sight. I splashed your blood on the ground on the driver's side and Ben's on the ground near the right rear door, just like you told me to. I opened the hood and put the stuff you gave me all over the engine. I had rigged the starter to cause an extra spark. I had Barbara keep a lookout for anyone seeing the car go up in flames, but at two o'clock in the morning, in January, there wasn't anyone. I already had the emergency brake off. I just turned the key, the hood blew upwards with flames shooting upwards, too. I gave the GTO a big shove and she went sliding off into the water down the little hill we chose to park on. I threw Fraser's Stetson and your shoulder holster on top of the water .  
  
We walked up to the L train and took it as far as we could away from the lake, then called Jerry to bring us home. I told him we had missed the last bus home after spending a day in the city. Of course, I am very sad that the GTO had to be sacrificed to save your friend, but I can't forget what happened to Jeffrey and I have never understood why people can't be protected better in prison."  
  
"Dad." and Stan reached over to grab his shoulder, "I will never be able to thank you enough for this. It's going to take them a long time to figure out exactly what happened and by then, Ben and I will have figured out where we are going to go."  
  
Stan gave his mother a big hug and kissed her on each cheek. "Thanks, Mum. You guys are the greatest. I am a bit hungry and then I `m going to sleep. Mum, Dad, I hope you don't start to hate me, but I am going to sleep with Ben, but, of course not in the Biblical sense because he's sick and all - to keep an eye on him - and because I think I love him. I'll shut up, now. I think I am babbling."  
  
Damien looked a little shocked, but when he looked at his wife's face, he could see she had already figured out this little piece of information and he controlled any outburst he might have made under other circumstances. His son has been lonely too long after the divorce from Stella, and, in all truthfulness, he never understood what he saw in her. Damien and Barbara spoke in unison, "We are glad for you, son." Barbara continued, "Do you know if he loves you?"  
  
"That doesn't really matter. I am going to try to stay with him, if he lets me, and if he loves me, greatness; if not, that's okay, too. "  
  
After the usual fantastic meal prepared by Barbara, Stan went into the guest room, undressed down to his underwear and got under the same blanket Barbara had placed over Ben as he lay on the sheet. The sheet had already caught some of the oozing blood and pus that had begun to come out of the wound. Barbara had left it open to be cleaned frequently which Stan proceeded to do with the antiseptic wipes Barbara had left on the side table. He also mopped up the sheet.   
  
Stan felt tempted to give the fevered man a platonic kiss on the cheek good-night, but stopped himself. He would have no right to do that until Ben felt the same way as he did. Stan turned over on his right side, which is the only way he could fall asleep, and away from looking at Ben. It bothered Stan to see Ben hurt and sick. And he didn't have any idea if their plan to throw off the authorities was going to work and he didn't know where they were going to go from here. He started to feel agitated and wanted to get up and pace around. It was four o'clock in the morning and the other three occupants of the trailer needed their rest. Even if he couldn't sleep, he was going to discipline himself to stay in bed and be as quiet as possible.  
  
The next thing Stan knew was he could smell breakfast cooking. A glance at the clock showed he had slept at least six hours. He turned over to look at Ben and immediately figured out that Ben had a ways to go before he was going to be better. The door to the guest room opened a bit and Barbara peered around the door. She whispered, "Good morning, Stanley. I had to give Ben some more morphine a couple of hours ago and some more antibiotics. He was in distress from the pain. Can I come in to clean the wound?"  
  
"You go ahead and do what you're doing, Mum. I can clean his wound. Have you been able to get him to drink water?"  
  
"Yes, he drank quite a bit when I gave him the morphine and antibiotic pills. That's a good sign. I think he's going to be alright, dear, so please don't worry, okay?"  
  
"Okay. What are we going to do if they come here looking for us? They probably will, you know?"  
  
"Do you remember how we built a kind of shelter from tornadoes underneath the trailer? It is big enough for four people to fit in. There are blankets down there and water and emergency food. We're going to move you both down there after you've had something to eat. Of course, you can come and go as you want and we'll all keep alert to anyone coming down the gravel driveway."  
  
"Man, I had forgotten about that. Hmm, I can't help thinking like a detective, although, I doubt I will ever work as one, again. I just feel lucky our driveway is gravel and you put gravel all over in front of the trailer to keep mud from being tracked in. There will be no tire tracks from the GTO out there."  
  
"Come and eat and then we will get you and Ben situated as comfortably as possible."  
  
The trapdoor to the shelter was under one of the living room throw rugs. Stan made several trips back and forth with more blankets and sleeping bags to build up a cushy surface for them to lie on and with which to keep warm. Another waterproof sheet was located and placed on Ben's side of the "bed". The shelter had two aluminum vents to the outside covered by tight mesh screens so a bit of fresh air kept the shelter from being too suffocating. Stan and Damien located all of the water and food and put it close to hand. There were three battery-operated lamps.  
  
His mother had even thought of getting Ben some adult-sized diapers which she had joked she would tell anyone who asked that they were for Damien and her as they both were growing old rather ungracefully. Stan, Damien and Barbara had the first good laugh together since the whole nightmare had invaded their settled lives. All Stan had to do was bring the soiled ones up when he came and she would take care of them.  
  
The most difficult job was how to move a comatose Ben down the straight ladder. Barbara came up with the idea of tying him to their straight household ladder and easing him down that way. Ben was soon settled, again, still unmoving and still very hot to the touch.  
  
Stan asked Damien and Barbara to buy him a lot of travel books so he could look at them while they were waiting for Ben to get well. He asked them to think about it, too; about where the best place would be for Stan and Ben to go.   
  
When Stan's parents returned from shopping, they were followed by a Chicago police unit which parked behind them when they stopped. Damien and Barbara greeted the police officers and retrieved their grocery bags from the trunk before leading the officers to the front door. They put the groceries down on the kitchen counters. The officers were still standing on the front stoop.   
  
"May we come in and search the premises, Mr. Kowalski?"  
  
Damien waved them in. The signal Stan's parents had worked out with Stan was a loud thump to let Stan know danger was overhead. Damien dropped a can of coffee on the floor. Below, Stan immediately went into quiet-as-a-mouse mode and quickly switched off the one lamp he had on.  
  
"Okay, thank you Mr. and Mrs. Kowalski. We just needed to check to see if your son was here. I am afraid that we have some bad news. Detective Kowalski was on a detail to take a prisoner to the next county and he never arrived. We haven't been able to uncover any leads or information as to what may have happened to him or his prisoner.   
  
"Please sit down, officers. I know I need to sit down." Barbara began to cry and Damien stood behind her and patted her back repeatedly, putting on a great show of grieving parents.   
  
"We do need to ask you some more questions. Is this a good time?"  
  
"When IS it going to be a good time? Please, go ahead with your questions." Barbara's voice was trembling. Damien began to think his wife should have opted for an acting career instead of staying at home to take care of him and her son.  
  
"When was the last time you saw your son?"  
  
Damien answered, "Let's see, it's January 17. We saw him right after New Year's. He brought us some pierogies he found in a Polish Deli."  
  
"When was the last time you talked on the phone?"  
  
"Let's see, my son called me two nights ago to say he was going to come to see us...hmmm, two nights ago would have been Sunday, right? Yes, he was going to come see us Saturday `cause he had the day off and it had been quite a while since he had had much time off." Barbara, again, bowed her head and started to sob.   
  
"Alright, ma'm. We'll leave you alone, now. Thank you for your cooperation. We will let you know if we hear anything one way or another."  
  
When the two officers drove off, both Barbara and Damien let out great big sighs of relief. Damien smiled broadly at Barbara. "You coulda been an actress, ya know that?"  
  
Damien stomped twice on the floor with his boot and Stan popped up from under the throw rug covering the trapdoor, just like a rabbit poking his head out of a hole. He joined his parents at the kitchen table. "Well?"  
  
Damien spoke first, "They don't have the slightest idea what happened to you. They just know you never arrived at the jail."  
  
Faint moans could be heard coming from below. Barbara grabbed her bag and went down to minister to Ben. Her head soon popped up and she told Stan and Damien to start handing down bucketfuls of ice. Ben's fever was spiking and needed to be brought down right away. Stan joined his mother below to mop up the melted ice while Damien kept the refrigerator ice machine pumping out more. After a few hours, the danger had passed and Ben was once again resting with the help of a little more morphine.  
  
When Stan and his mother came up to eat, they reported to Damien the good news and also said that his wound was looking much, much better and the evidence of blood poisoning was diminishing. Barbara predicted one more day and Ben would be on his way out of further danger. Her eyes dropped to the table as she couldn't meet her son's eyes when she revealed that Ben may never regain full use of his right hand, especially if he will be on the run and unable to get proper medical attention and physical therapy.  
  
It took a while for Ray to take this announcement in. "Mum, look at me. No matter how we look at it, whatever our future holds is going to be an improvement over the treatment Ben would have gotten in prison. He is too good a man to suffer the sexual hijinx and violence that goes on in prison. I believe he is innocent, too, so that makes it even worse. He's covering for someone. He has to be. When I came into the apartment, he was positioned as if he was the shooter, but he HAD to have been shot first and guess what that means, he COULDN'T have shot Gerard - his hand was already useless."  
  
"Son, I left the travel guides in the van. I'll go get them. You asked me what I thought and I was thinking Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Your mother and I were there, last year, and it would be easy for you and Ben to blend in, there. It's very close to Miami. I also got you some hair dye and I bought some scissors to cut hair. Your mother is going to get rid of your spikes and color your hair a dark brown. Ben's hair has already grown a bit since he's been here and maybe he should let it grow a bit more to change his appearance, too. We've got quite a bit of money saved - over two hundred thousand dollars - and we want you and Ben to have it. It's not like you can get your own money out of the bank, now is it?"  
  
"Dad, you've been thinking a lot about this, haven't you?"  
  
"Me and your mother talked it all out. We don't want Ben to go to prison. We don't know him that well, but anyone that you care so much about, must be a very good person. We cried about Jeffrey, again, when we went to bed. He was such a talented artist and also a good man. Enough tragedy."  
  
"I had better go check on Ben. It's been two hours since I've been down there, Mum." One of the portable lamps was hanging from a nail near the first rung of the ladder down to the shelter and Stan grabbed it and turned it on. When he turned to face the makeshift bed, he was surprised to see a pair of grey eyes staring at him from underneath the covers. "Hey, Ben, how are you?"  
  
"I am very hungry."  
  
"Oh, yeh! I'll be right back, Ben." Stan scrambled back up the ladder, calling out when his head popped up, "He's awake! He's hungry!"  
  
Barbara immediately began preparing a meal for Ben of a sandwich and some nice, hot chicken soup. She put the soup in a thermos and the sandwich in a paper bag with a long-handled spoon for the soup and handed them to Stan. "See, I told you he was going to get better." She kissed her son and hugged him. He was grinning ear-to-ear.  
  
When Stan had helped Ben consume his first meal in two days, he turned on the other two lamps and lay down beside Ben and just stared at him. Ben became a bit discomfited. "What are you staring at, Stan?"  
  
"You. You not looking sick. It's a beautiful sight."  
  
"I am feeling a lot better, thanks to your mother. Please let her know how grateful I am."  
  
Upstairs, the phone was ringing and the sound of it came faintly down to the two men who immediately froze in position to see if they could overhear what was being said at this end. The voice was too muffled. They couldn't even tell if it was Damien or Barbara who had answered.   
  
The trap door opened and Damien called down, "Harding - I mean Lieutenant Welsh - is on his way over to give us some news. He insisted it had to be in person. Here's a couple of sandwiches for you and a large thermos of coffee and one of tea, to hold you guys over. We don't know how long he will be here." Stan climbed up the ladder to get the supplies. Luckily, there was a porta-potty in the shelter, too, so both men would be able to use that if their stay below was extended past the comfort zone. Stan knew he had a little bit of time before Welsh arrived, so he helped Ben become totally comfortable by helping him out of his pajamas and helping him into a clean, fresh pair.  
  
Stan also dressed for sleep as it was already six o'clock in the evening and he was feeling very tired all of a sudden. It was the drained feeling a person gets after their adrenalin has been pumping non-stop and then stops. Stan felt as if whatever had been holding him upright had left his body as quickly as the air escapes from a popped balloon. He had lain down, intending to talk to Ben for awhile, but as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was asleep. It was Ben's turn to stare at Stan. He again pushed away any feelings other than friendship because as he was looking at Stan, Ben began to feel an impulse to kiss Stan full on the lips. He shook himself out of it. `No, no, I will not give in to these feelings,' he told himself over and over.  
  
Ben turned off the lamps and tried to go back to sleep, but now that he was feeling so much better and had slept for so long, already, he lay for a long time just staring into the darkness. The images that vied for his attention soon became a waking nightmare as the memories scattered across his disturbed mind - his mother collapsing in the snow, blood pooling all around her; his father yelling at him for crying and showing too much emotion about his mother's death; his grandparents' disapproving looks every time he acted like a normal little boy; discovering Victoria Metcalf in a crag in a mountainside after tracking her when her escape plane crashed - they saved each other's lives by reciting poetry while a blizzard swirled around them; the intense lovemaking over three days in his tent when he found his supplies; the deep love he felt for Victoria as if they had met a thousand times before; the memory of how his duty loomed up and almost caused his death at the hand of the only person he had ever loved; the sight of his own blood pooling in the snow around him as he, once again, recited the lines -  
  
I caught this morning morning's minion, kingdom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing In his ecstasy!  
  
The pain in his back was minor compared to the pain in his heart from the loss of his beloved; and the sight of his father's blood desecrating the snow of his beloved mountains so he could never love them, again, either. Blood and snow - the common denominator in the tragedies that wrenched his soul and destroyed his ability to love. He hated himself and his life.  
  
Ben finally fell asleep, only to have similar, but even more horrific images, flood his subconscious mind, causing him to scream himself awake. Stan immediately woke up and not knowing whether Lieutenant Welsh was still upstairs, he clamped his hand over Ben's mouth, whispering in his ear for him to be very, very quiet and that everything was going to be okay; it was just a bad dream. Stan could not see Ben's eyes, but he imagined some kind of nightmare terror was still emanating from them. He continued to soothe Ben. He didn't dare turn on the lamp to go and check if the lieutenant was, indeed, still here. Soon, Stan removed his hand and Ben whispered he was okay, now; it was a very bad dream.  
  
Ben was distraught because he thought he had ruined Stan's careful plan, of which he knew no details. He only knew that Stan was trying his utmost to keep him from going to jail. Ben couldn't decide what he felt about trying to escape from being put on trial for a murder he didn't commit when he was the one who had created the situation in the first place. He knew that Damien, Barbara and Stan had gone to a lot of trouble to do something to save him and it was too late to turn back, now. There was no reason to stop what was set in motion.  
  
When Ben came back to himself, he realized Stan was caressing his cheek as if he was soothing a small child and muttering comforting words. Ben reached across with his left hand and brought the palm of Stan's hands to his lips and just kept them pressed into Stan's fleshy palm. As quickly as he had done this impulsive gesture, he threw away Stan's hand as if it had just burned his lips. Ben had to guess, in the dark, what expression was on Stan's face and his imagination told him, Stan must look surprised and saddened by his sudden movement of rejection.  
  
"Stan," he whispered, "I am sorry. Please, please forgive me. I didn't mean any of it. I didn't mean to kiss you and I didn't mean to throw away your hand."  
  
"Come on, Ben, stop playing games with me. You can't not want to kiss me and then not not want to kiss me. Hell, I don't even know what I am saying. Let's just be quiet for a while and don't touch me and I won't touch you."  
  
Ben's grief spilled over. He couldn't contain any of it, anymore. Tears ran in steady streams down both sides of his face.  
  
Suddenly, the trap door opened and Damien called down, "The coast is clear, boys. It's good news. You're dead."   
  
Stan immediately turned on a lamp and looked at Ben. Ben didn't have enough time to wipe away his tears. "Did you hear that, Ben, we're dead? Isn't that great?" All of a sudden, both men were laughing hysterically, knowing that the words that Damien and Stan had just said would have never been said before by anyone and would never be said by anyone ever, again.  
  
When their laughter had faded away, Stan's expression became very serious as he asked Ben, "Is there anything I can do to help you? I couldn't help noticing you were crying, again. And the scream, what's up with that?"  
  
"Blood in the snow, " Ben cryptically answered.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"So many of the deaths that have happened to the people I loved involved blood in the snow and I dreamed I woke up, one morning, back in my father's cabin in the Northwest Territories, and I looked out the window, wondering if the first snow of the season had begun to fall. I pulled the curtain aside and it was snowing, but the snowflakes weren't white, they were red and as they fell on the ground, pools of blood were all I could see."  
  
"Shit, Frase."  
  
"Let's get you standing up and see how strong you are. I want to see if you will be able to go up the ladder or whether my parents should come down here to give us the full story on what Lieutenant Welsh came to see them about."  
  
Fraser felt very dizzy when he stood up and told Stan he would have to rest a little longer before attempting the climb with only one good arm.   
  
"Here, have some of the tea. It's probably cold, but it might taste alright. And, here, have a sandwich. You're probably haven't eaten enough to have kept up your strength. I'll go up and ask them to come down."  
  
Soon Barbara, Damien and Stan descended the ladder and came over to where Ben was resting. There were several plastic chairs scattered about and the three of them grabbed one and sat near the bed.   
  
Stan explained what he had asked his parents to do, going into great detail for Ben's sake. "So, they pulled the GTO out of the lake, found my holster and your big hat; forensics checked over the car and found the same accel...thing that makes fire burn more on the engine and concluded that we were killed in the park, our bodies taken away to some unknown location and the car pushed into Lake Michigan. That's why we're officially dead. My parents are going to be able to collect the three hundred thousand dollars I have saved and we won't have to use their savings for our getaway."  
  
"I have quite a bit saved, too. I never had any significant expenses since I started in the RCMP at the age of eighteen. I keep the money in a low-risk investment and I think it's about up to four hundred thousand, now. I can write a will, leaving all of my money to you, Stan. Your parents can have the will and tell anyone who asks that you had given it to them days ago and that I had left everything to Stan because I have no one else."  
  
"Wow, we're going to have enough money to live on for a long, long time, so we can keep out of anyone's radar in case the authorities decide there's something fishy with how it all went down." Stan was happier than he had been for days. He didn't know what the future was going to hold, but if it included being with Ben, it had to be great, that's all he knew.  
  
Barbara knelt down beside Ben to peer at his wound. "Oh, my, it looks so much better, Ben. Harding did notice the travel brochures on the table and we had to tell him that we were planning a trip to Fort Lauderdale just before we found out our son was dead. He said it might be a good idea to go, anyway. So, I guess we'll all be going there if you decide that's where you would like to try to settle down. When you screamed Ben, and I am guessing it was you, we told Harding there was a wild alley cat living under our trailer. He just nodded and told us, again, how sorry he was. There's going to be a memorial service for you, Stanley, and, of course, we are going to have to go. It's tomorrow at three o'clock."  
  
"What about Ben, Mum?"  
  
"Uh, Inspector Thatcher..."  
  
"Never mind, Barbara, I think I know what she said. After all, I killed a fellow RCMP officer. I am sure my name has become synonymous with traitor, now. Stan has probably told you that he suspects I didn't kill the bastard and he's right. A young boy was visiting me and circumstances led up to the unfortunate situation where he had to shoot Gerard in the back to save my life. I forced him to let me take the blame. His future is wide-open and he is a very talented hockey player and will one day join the RCMP. Actually, I am not sure about that, any longer. He may become a professional hockey player, now. If Stan and I can make a new life for ourselves, wherever it may be, justice will have been served in a very convoluted way. I regret that Stan had to give up his work as a detective."  
  
"Oh, please, Ben, don't worry about that. My Dad never liked me being a police officer, anyway, did you, Dad?"  
  
"No, I didn't like the idea that the stink of the evil people he would have to deal with, everyday, would rub off on him, somehow. Last time we were in Fort Lauderdale, there was a bowling alley for sale. Since you don't really need the income, if it's still for sale, you could buy it as a way of legitimizing yourselves in the community. It's called `The Pink Flamingo Lanes'."  
  
"Gosh, Dad, is that what you always wanted me to be; an owner of a bowling alley? Why didn't you tell me?" All four of the companionable people laughed uproariously at this ridiculous idea.   
  
Barbara carried away the empty thermoses and garbage in a plastic bag she slung over her arm so she could use both hands to climb the ladder. Damien made sure the porta-potty was properly set up for the boys. It was the same one they used on their trips and it worked quite well, then he followed his wife upstairs.  
  
Stan lay down next to Ben and pulled up the blankets to cover both of them. It was very chilly. "I'm sorry your career in the Mounties ended like it did, Ben."  
  
"I'm not. I only joined the RCMP because my father was a Mountie and I thought that becoming one, too, he would pay more attention to me. It didn't work. He was still distant and there was no affection between us. He was so bad at communicating that he didn't even tell me anything about what might have led to his death. My investigation revealed that a group of dentists had gone hunting where my father was killed and had returned to the States. That's why I transferred, here. Owning a bowling alley sounds quite ideal, actually, although I am not sure I could learn to bowl left-handed."  
  
Hearing that last sentence pleased Stan a great deal. It meant Ben was going to stay with him and their futures would be entwined in some kind of way even if their bodies never became entwined the way he wanted them to be. Thinking of "bodies entwining" made Stan's cock engorge suddenly and Ben couldn't help feeling it bump against his leg since Stan was turned partially toward him. Just the knowledge that this man was sexually stimulated laying next to him caused Ben's cock to achieve a full erection, too, tenting the blanket that covered him. His heart and soul may be cold, but his body was heating up rapidly.  
  
"Please kiss me, Stan."  
  
Stan threw off his pajama top, pulled off his pajama bottoms and threw back the covers. He positioned himself over Ben by holding himself up with his arms and in doing so, their cocks touched and when Stan's lips covered Ben's, they both shuddered as if already on the verge of orgasm. Stan leaned back and Ben tried to follow him, but couldn't get any leverage having only one good elbow to try to lean on.   
  
"Take it easy, Ben. I just want to feel skin to skin. Okay?"  
  
"Yes, please."  
  
Stan started to unbutton Ben's pajama top and this gave Ben a chance to study Stan's naked boy in the light of the three lamps. His skin glowed golden. The highlights in his blonde hair were picked up by the uneven light and it looked like Stan had a halo around his head. Stan's blue eyes met Ben's grey eyes and Stan definitely saw something in Ben's eyes that looked like love, but he couldn't be sure and he wouldn't jump to any conclusions. He didn't want his own heart broken.   
  
Before Stan turned to removing Ben's pajama bottoms, he ran both of his hands down Ben's chest, pausing a while at his nipples to run his fingers lightly over them until he could feel them harden. Ben moaned and writhed and tried to get Stan to look into his eyes, again, so he could see the desperation he felt. Instead, Stan continued ever so slowly toward removing Ben's pajama bottoms. He tugged on them until Ben's arching cock was freed. Stan was distracted by the beautiful picture of this man's cock beckoning to him to take it into his mouth which he promptly did and slid his lips right down the entire length, licking as he went.   
  
Ben had started to arch his back when Stan's lips had first touched the top of his cock, but when the licking began, so did Ben's orgasm and he was still spurting cum into Stan's mouth when Stan jerked and then fell heavily onto Ben's prostrate body. Stan quickly lifted himself off, fearing he was hurting Ben's bad arm and lay down next to Ben. He pulled up the covers and both men immediately fell into sated somnolence.  
  
Ben's dream was more peaceful, this time; he was on a beach in Florida at sunset - a strip of red and purple stretched across the sky and was reflected in the topaz sea. He felt someone next to him and turned to look to see who it was. Stan's golden face also reflected the dusky colors. Beautiful. It was the only word he could think of. He could see Stan's soul in his now topaz eyes as they reflected the color of the sea and his soul was as magnificent as his outward appearance. It was the first dream he had ever had that didn't turn into a nightmare of blood and snow. Ben felt at peace for the first time in his life.  
  
The End  
  
1  
  


  
 

* * *

End Blood and Snow by Vscott 

Author and story notes above. 

Please post a comment on this story.   
Read posted comments. 

 


End file.
